


I'll Always Come Home to You

by koalaboy



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, martha is a good momma, mentions of superbat if u squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaboy/pseuds/koalaboy
Summary: Clark Kent makes a promise to always come home to his mother, even if the battle is tough. His Ma always manages to make things okay with her hugs, her words, and her apple pie.Set after Justice League (2017), with slight references to Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.





	I'll Always Come Home to You

After a long and hard battle and prolonged exposure to Kryptonite, Clark does the most logical thing he could think of: he goes home to his Momma.

"Ma," he calls weakly, propping himself up against the wooden wall of the house.

He smiles down at Dusty, the Australian cattle dog, who greets him at the door with happy yipping.

"Clark?" Martha covers her mouth in shock and opens the door for him. She collects him in her arms as if he was still a young boy and helps him to the old sofa, which still had the ugly green pattern of his teenage years. "Baby? I saw it all on the news, I was so worried. I thought..."

"I know, momma. I'm sorry I put you through that," he says softly. When she sits beside him he rests his head on her shoulder.

He takes her hand in his, "I came home because I need your strength right now."

She pats the top of his hand affectionately, "I think we best get you out of your suit, first. Then I'll put a pie in the oven."

She guides him to his feet and they slowly make their way in to Clark's old room. It was still relatively the same, intact with his solar system model. He smiles to himself and makes a note to add a few more planets and stars. The bed creaks under his weight and he chuckles, unable to escape his mother's grip as she starts to undress him.

" _ **Ma**_ ," he whines, "I can do it myself. Promise."

She sighs and takes a reluctant step back, "Okay. Okay. You know you're still that little boy who could never quite figure out socks to me."

"Now look at me, my uniform is glorified spandex," he laughs, and his face lights up when he sees his mother laugh, too, "How's the corn this season, Ma?"

He pulls his suit down to around his waist and hisses in pain when he can feel the dry air hit the open wounds on his back: Kryptonite burns.

"Oh, my boy..." she murmurs, "You never even had skinned knees as a child. This is..."

"I'll be okay, once my strength is back I'll meet with Bruce and he'll give me something for-- why are you giving me that look?" Clark blushes, avoiding her eyes, "Ma, stop!"

She smirks at him, raising her eyebrows. She gathers his cape in her arms.

"You've been seeing this Bruce a lot."

"It's not like that, Ma," he insists, "Just because Lois is seeing a woman doesn't mean I'm--"

She puts a finger to his lips to shush him, "Well, whatever it's 'like', I'm happy for you, baby."

Clark groans and shuts the door after her.

"Maybe you could invite Bruce to dinner," she calls.

Clark groans loud enough for her to hear through the door and rolls his eyes. He rids himself of the rest of his suit and examines himself properly in the mirror. Some of the smaller lacerations were starting to heal already, but the bigger burns looked bad. Was this how Bruce felt after every mission? He pulls on a shirt and long, cotton pyjama pants. He can feel the familiar groves and imperfections in the wood underneath his feet as he walks back out to the small kitchen and living room.

"Hey, Dusty, you lookin' after Mom for me?" He coos, lifting the dog up in to his arms. Dusty nudges his head under Clark's chin and Clark scratches his belly for him, setting him down on the sofa. He lets out a contented sigh and gazes out the window at the cornfields and chicken coop. "Ma, did you have Mr Fredricks come and rewire the chicken coop? It looks new."

"Yes, honey, he did the sheep fences for me, too. I had our neighbor, Mrs Jeffrey, over for lunch yesterday," she says, her voice growing louder as she finally enters the kitchen from the laundry.

"How's she doing? She's the one who lost her husband, too, right?"

Martha hums in agreement and begins pouring the apples she'd been stewing in to the pie dish to cover the pastry, "Cancer. It's the chemicals they use to get rid of the tics on cattle, I'm telling you, Clark. That's why your father and I never went in to that business."

Clark tidies up the coffee table in front of the sofa for her, "If I had faith in my ability to stand, I'd help you out, Ma, I promise."

"I can manage just fine, young man, you best stay put," she says sternly, pointing her knife at him to illustrate her point.

He grins innocently at her and gives in to her will, petting Dusty's short coat as the old dog lays sprawled out across his lap.

"You two still handling the sheep by yourselves?"

"Mhmm, but if you're feeling up to it tomorrow, I need help shoeing the horses."

Clark nods, picking the mud out from between Dusty's paw pads, "Can do, Momma."

Clark closes his eyes and lets the sound of his Ma in the kitchen and the football game on TV drown out the rest of the world's white noise. He can feel a weight over his body and when he opens his eyes, he's covered in a woolen blanket.

"I don't feel the cold much, Ma, you didn't have to."

"You're my baby, of course I had to," she says, setting the pie in to the oven and coming to join her son and Dusty on the sofa.

"Bruce is giving me hand to hand combat lessons," he murmurs, taking her hand and giving it a soft kiss.

"Is this a good thing?"

Clark nods, "When my powers are taken away, I know very little about fighting. It's what got me in to trouble this time."

Martha fixes Clark's hair, "This Bruce wouldn't happen to be the same man who you and that lovely woman fought with, would it? What was her name, baby?"

"Diana, Ma. And that's him."

She frowns, "The Bruce who bought the bank to save our farm?"

"Yes, Ma."

"I like this Bruce."

Clark smiles and presses a kiss to her cheek, "He's just a friend."

She raises her eyebrows in disbelieving silence, which makes Clark blush again. He rolls his eyes at her, "Next thing, you'll be wearing a superman shirt."

"I already have one. I do the weeding in it."

Clark's smile fades and he squeezes his mother's hand, concern flooding his features. 

"What is it, Clark?"

He bites his lip.

"Ma," his voices shakes, "The President has asked to see me. There is... a mission, apparently, surveillance in North Korea. If I could save lives, it would be worth it, but..."

"Clark," she says sternly, her fingers not leaving his hair, "Do you know what I would do, if I were you?"

He shakes his head and watches her in desperation for an answer, stray tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I'd walk up to him, I'd look him straight in the eye," she cups his cheeks and wipes the tears away, "And I'd tell him to go straight to hell."

"I wish I had your spine, Ma," he mumbles, and kisses her forehead.

She pulls him close and he returns the gesture, burying his face in to her shoulder.

"I want to make the Justice League above the police and the politics. I want us to be a symbol to the minorities that we protect all. We won't answer to any leaders, only to the people in times of need."

"That sounds very wise of you, Clark," she says, rubbing his shoulders to ease his tension, "You lead your team for _all_ , baby."

"I can smell the pie, Ma," he says after minutes of precious, soothing quite pass between them. He pulls away from her so she can tend to the pie.

"Oh, gosh, I always forget," she grumbles to herself, getting up with a grunt and shuffling her way in to the kitchen.

Clark pushes himself up with more than a grunt and slowly creeps after his mother.

"Clark Joseph Kent, sit yourself back down," she warns.

"I got it, Ma," he says.

He takes the pie from her in his bare hands and sets it down on the counter top. She folds her arms across her chest.

"Sit at the table. Now."

He sighs and drags himself in to the small wooden chair at the circular dining table. Martha scoops out a generous serving of apple pie and puts it on a plate for him. She places it and a spoon in front of him with a kiss to the top of his head.

"Thank you, Ma. Your pie fixes everything," he says, his words muffled because of the amount of apple pie he's managed to stuff in to his mouth already.

"I know, baby," she says, "And tonight I'll tuck you in and turn on that star projector night-light of yours. It always used to settle you down." She sits beside him and rests her hand on his arm, "I guess it reminded you of home."

"This is my home, Ma," he says, "And you are my home."


End file.
